“Lilacs” — C.Birde, 4/20
Let
the rain
fall softly
soft
perfumed
mist of lilacs
hyacinths
anoint light-
sealed eyelids
that recall
call
to mind fabled
Edens lost &
painless-
ness.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Fable — A Poem
Month: April 2020
Altered View — A Truth
“Altered View” — C.Birde, 4/20
With all that is &
is not currently
occurring, I find
myself drawn to
windows, closed;
staring outward,
sitting, waiting
for Gray Catbird’s
return.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Ophelia — A Dream
“Bath” — C.Birde, 4/20
Awaken –
suddenly,
splashingly –
to that song
(despised),
that songster singing;
the alarm’s relentless
ringing
from the bedside as
(swiftly)
he departs
and addresses not
the wailing,
blaring
song.
Emerge.
Upward, surge
from watery warmth,
and rouse translucent
waves to tidal
lapping,
spilling,
slapping
over and past
the slipper tub’s
smooth sides
of porcelain
white.
Outward,
stretch;
extend one arm
(fingers streaming)
to reach and strike
(again!
again!)
the alarm’s
rigid,
buzzing,
boxlike
surface and silence
(at last!)
disharmony’s
jarring
blast.
Awake.
Fully wakened…
In blessed quiet,
become aware —
across the room —
of the calico’s cider
stare;
and —
beyond
the glistening rim
of the polished tub —
of the small dog
that deftly,
daintily dodged
the sluicing
flood pro-
duced.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Rain — An Image
“Rain on Privet” — C.Birde, 4/20
“With patience,
I shall rain
on you,”
her voice swayed,
slantwise,
“like a thousand fingers,
gently drumming,
u n t i l
you
understand.”
— C.Birde, 4/20
Ask… — A Poem
“Nightstand” — C.Birde, 4/20
Ask
something concrete…
What books I’ve accumulated,
over the past five weeks –
eight, thus far:
three new; five used;
two classics;
one not yet received.
(Ask
for an illustrative
Venn Diagram.)
Ask
if the stack on the nightstand
leans –
those Dead Girls & Cousins
& Innkeepers & Unicorns;
the modern-day Persephone;
the House of Tremontaine
& Castle Gormenghast
all listing crookedly,
patiently,
waiting for Wintering.
Ask
how much I read –
two paragraphs each night,
maybe three
(the stack could last indefinitely);
a comfort of words,
in self-prescribed doses.
Ask
the tangible, the specific;
I’ll answer eagerly,
each query a forbidden fruit –
tart, acidic, honey-sweet.
But please –
oh, please –
avoid the vague,
the nebulous,
the hazy;
do not disrupt
this tenuous balance;
do not ask me
how I
am.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Sweet… — A Truth
“Bleeding Heart” — C.Birde, 4/20
I follow his example –
as explained to me –
and, palm placed
against the cage
of that muscled
organ,
speak:
“There, there,
sweet heart,
there, there…”
Does he weep
as he repeats
these words
also?
I cannot,
do not
know.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Emblem — An Image
“Dogwood” — C.Birde, 4/20
“I bring you flowers,
from tight buds
unfolding…”
softly,
she spoke,
in breath perfumed
with violet &
hyacinth.
“Reminder
that change
can be
sweet.”
— C.Birde, 4/20
Specific Grief — A Poem
“Surge” — C.Birde, 4/20
For You…
Each time we meet,
that specific grief
and I,
in some unexpected
curl of psyche,
it is always,
ever,
and again,
as if for the first time.
Like the rasp of thorn
or briar on skin
presumed whole,
unmarred,
unbroken —
fresh surge of pain;
scarlet bright.
When we meet,
my grief and I,
old friends reunited,
we embrace –
awkwardly,
so carefully –
and, as one,
we weep.
— C.Birde, 4/20
The Key of Melancholy — A Truth
“Moon” — C.Birde, 4/20
There are nights when I wake
with the Moon,
in one of Her many guises,
resting on my windowsill
singing in the very same
melancholy key
as the chords ringing
in my head,
constantly;
and I ask,
in sleep-soft speech,
“What key are we
singing,
ringing
in?”
— C.Birde, 4/20
A Me — A Dream
“High Tower” — C.Birde, 4/20
How,
in dream,
can I know you?
With your eyes,
concentric rings
of brown and
blue chasing
‘round a pupil
so clear and
dark?
In dream,
so clearly
I see you clad
in silver starlight;
platinum hair,
a cascade that waves
about your shoulders
in halo.
You,
of the High Tower,
so utterly familiar
as a part of his
life,
not mine
(though here, now,
he knows you
not at all)
while in my
wakened state,
I reflect that
I have never,
ever
set eyes
on anyone
remotely like
you.
Surely,
I would
remember…
— C.Birde, 4/20
Nightjars & Damselflies 